Randoms from the Month of. . . (I Forget Which Roman God 'February' Stands for)

Hi America.  How we feelin' this evening?

Time once again for your monthly installment of all things Random, the February Edition.

Enjoy, folks.

Kris gets crafty with the Cannonball, whose 1st grade class was creating t-shirts in preparation for their 100th day of school.  They had to create a t-shirt with 100 things on it, so her teacher suggested to her classmates that they draw 100 individual things on their shirts.  This, to Kris, was blasphemy. . . especially when there was the chance to Bedazzle.

In addition to the 100-random-crap shirt, kids were also encouraged to dress up like an old person. . . 'cause, you know. . . sometimes old people live to 100.  Probably not me, though.  Here, Alayna demonstrates how to operate a 'walker' (converted from the frame of one of Abby's baby doll swings.)

Getting ready for school.

Abby demanded her picture taken as well.  As usual.

See the old timer on the left?  According to multiple six-year-old sources, that guy is Alayna's big love interest.

Getting schooled.

(Old ladies carry umbrellas, too. . . right?)

February 2015 could very well be remembered as being the month that both of my kids became obsessed with Star Wars.  As you'll be so good as to recall, I successfully introduced them to the greatest cinematic franchise on Earth using the Machete Order, and they've watched a lot of the movies ever since.  However, it wasn't until I allowed them to play with my old action figures that they really grew fanatical about it (you have NO idea how hard it was letting them touch my sacred toys, too - they were under intense supervision, and they weren't allowed to play with any of the weapons, as I didn't want them to get lost.)

Shit like this started appearing on their homework.  Here, Abby shows us Things That Begin with the Letter 'Y.'

After a few days of allowing them to carefully play with my old Kenner toys from the '80s, I decided that they should really just own Star Wars toys of their own (more or less 'cause I didn't want my vintage ones messed up, but let's just pretend that I'm a good parent and wanted them to have nicer, up-to-date toys instead.)  Alayna picked out an Anakin Skywalker toy from Target one day while we were out and about, which I'm not 100% cool with (seeing how the Prequels are horrendous at best), but at least its Episode III Anakin and not the retarded kid from Episode I.

Seeing how individual action figures run around $6 - $10, I realized the financial implications of getting my kids in Star Wars toys.  Eventually, after spending waaaay too many hours in front of my computer researching Star Wars action figures, I came across three sets of figures available on Amazon.  What was cool about these sets - which I got for about $15 apiece - was that you got six free-standing figures (each came with a base, so young kids can play with them easily) from each of the movies.  They're more mini-statues, too; there's no moving limbs and no removable weapons/accessories, so the likelihood of breakage - a major selling point for me - is considerably diminished.  Long story short, for $45, my kids now have a wide variety of sturdy, high-quality figures from the original Star Wars trilogy.  Bad-ass fatherhood defined, Internet. 

Speaking of bad-ass fatherhood - the other day Alayna came up to me and asked to watch Episode I.  I never told her about this cinematic abortion, but I guess she figured it out that there had to be a first movie seeing how I refer to the Prequels as Episode II and Episode III.  I tried dissuading her, describing its utter terribleness, but she said she just wanted to 'watch it and get it out of the way.'  Ten minutes in, she wanted to turn it off, but I refused - she was going to watch the whole damn thing.  Just like back in the day when parents used to sit their kid down and make them smoke a whole pack of cigarettes if they were caught smoking one, my kid watched the entirety of Episode I.  And hated it.  I'll be expecting a medal in the mail.

Yeah, we own this.  It's not nearly as fun as you remember.  For out of shape parents, it's pretty brutal.

Divvying up plunder.

Alayna's new musical obsession?  The Who.  She likes their weirder tracks, obviously - 'Cobwebs and Strange,' 'Boris the Spider,' ' Heinz Baked Beans,' etc. - but she also likes some of the tracks off Tommy, which is awesome.

(They're watching a kids' yoga DVD.)

Found this on one of the white boards in my Studio at work.  Pretty much sums Mr. Hough up.

We grew some tangerines this year.  Sort of.

Showing Alayana how to draw maps for a school project.  I wish she had more homework like this and less 'write the definition of this word three times'. . . Common Core is straight up destroying the fun in school for this generation.

(Not sure what's in her hand, but she wanted a picture with it.)

Having a Manhattan for dinner?  Must be a Friday.

Getting ready to walk Watson around the subdivision. . .

Alayna usually spends her weekends playing with two of the neighbor kids (and sometimes their younger and older siblings -   Three houses down on the left and the house immediately on our right, respectively.)  So there's always tons of toys littered around the front of our house.

The Cannonball, really getting into piano practice.

Abby, posing with a new outfit she picked out.

Bunny ears are hilarious.

Alayna had to write a page using ten of her Spelling Words for the week (words with the 'oi'/'oy' sound, as you can see.)  Remember the grandpa-looking kid from earlier (see above)?  Apparently our first grade sources were on to something. . .

Sugar, without any of that bothersome 'food' to go along with it.  Abby's ultimate snack.

Make-up time in a tent.  Yes, we set up a tent on our back patio.  And it has been up for a couple months now.

She wanted a picture of this.  'Cause this is really important.

Showing off some new winter coats.

- Brian

The Sad Voyage of the H.M.S. Pukefest

Port Canaveral, Florida.  Here we go again. . .

Ahoy, readers.

As you may or may not recall, the last time the Whites were down here accomp-anying Dad and Cindy, we all went deep-sea fishing in the Gulf of Mexico.  Despite being overcast and a little windy, it was a great time - we scored a ton of fish and ate like kings (or successful fishermen, take your pick) back at the resort later that evening.  It was due to this past escapade that Yours Truly heartily signed on for yet another fishing adventure, this time in the Atlantic, out of Port Canaveral.

Alas, things didn't go so well this time around (I'm sure this entry's title tipped you off, there.)

Now, I've never been one to boast of his 'sea legs,' but I like to think I can handle myself fairly well on a fishing boat a few miles off the coast.  It's not like I'm being tossed around in a tempest, or trying to circumvent the Straits of Magellan or anything.  The last time around, I didn't get sea sick at all - if anything, the lack of sleep caused by waking up at 4am was a problem.

This was terrible.

This year, unfortunately, I decided to be an idiot and stay up 'til 1am watching The Hobbit: the Desolation of Smaug and drinking Manhattans.

'Cause that's what you're supposed to do the night before heading out to choppy waters at the ass-crack of dawn.

This was not.

I was sea sick sitting on my coach trying to put my shoes on at 4:30am, so when I heard the reports that the Atlantic was so choppy most other fishermen were saying 'screw it, we'll come back tomorrow,' I didn't have high hopes for the morning.

But don't take my word for it, readers - check out this year's adventure on the high seas for yourself:

Trolling out of Port Canaveral among cruise ships and tugboats.  It was an ominous sign that we were among the very few boats heading out to sea - all the other fishing boats were heading back to port, as the seas were considered by most (according to those over the radio) to be too choppy for fishing.

The Sea Leveler, our vessel this time around, was a lot less impressive than the ol' S.S. 100 Proof we took last time

Bradley and Bryan

Our captain (though I hate to use that term. . . it's not like he was commanding men or anything.  I think 'boat driver' seems more appropriate.)

Setting off into choppy water.  We hadn't even netted the bait yet and I was already feeling like a sackful of buttholes. . .

The swells were over  7 feet high, which meant that the boat was dropping 14 feet or so every time it crested a wave and plummeted back down.  Not nearly as much fun as it may sound.

It took about an hour and a half to get out to the point where we could actually fish, but it was far from the leisurely toss-and-reel we had experienced two years ago.  As our 'captain' said, "today you guys are going to have to work for it."

Some early spoils of the day (I contributed nothing)

After an hour or so out on the open sea, Bradley started to grow sea sick (as you can see, I'm still kickin' ass back there - our boat driver said that was the fastest he's ever seen someone get seasick on his boat.  I've very proud of this.)

Catching a siesta.

The boys had a similar notion.

It may look calm here, but it wasn't.

Blake held it together much better than his uncle, who now wears frilly lace and answers to 'Alice.'

Alice, still napping.

Helping Lazarus reel in dinner.

Heading back in to Port Canaveral. . .

That boat looked a lot cooler than our boat.

Not sure what Bradley's doing here - I think he's throwing the fish bait overboard.  Hopefully he's not eating it.

The U.S. Coast Guard.  On the prow for pirates.  Or Cubans.

After five hours, I was finally able to sit upright without vomiting my ass off.  I attribute much of this to the fact that I had absolutely nothing left in my insides to puke up.

Our point of berth.

The Sea Leveler

Hanging up fish for the usual photo op

The swarthy crew of the H.M.S. Pukefest

Fishermen and victims. . .

Reenactments for the public.

Our boat driver fulfilled his contractual obligations by gutting and slicing up the mackerels into nice fillets for us to take back (the bonita taste like shit so you throw those out.)

. . . otherwise the dead fish will float at the surface of the sea, attracting carrion and God knows what else.

When this guy woke up this morning, I wonder if he saw this coming.

These dudes got a feast.

Kids love gore.  Blood, that is. . . not the politician-turned-environmentalist.

Dad put a lot of effort into taking a picture of one of the dolphins that were hanging out along the docks - these things must be somewhat domesticated, for they feared no boats or human noise.

*    *    *    *    *

While we men toiled and puked away aboard the Sea Leveler, the girls had a somewhat more relaxed morning poolside. . .

Showing off their new swimsuits.  Or just being weird, who knows.

. . . and having fun with someone else's noodle.

Enjoyable for most, horrifying to my offspring.

Nana attempts to prove to Alayna that this fountain-thing can't kill her.

Obviously you won't see my kids on this thing any time soon.

Dog paddling.  We really need to get on the whole swim lessons thing - down here in Florida, the number one cause of death for children under 5 is drowning. . .  

There's always bizarre, drunk foreigners to converse with at the poolside bar.  I love living in a tourist Mecca.

Evidently it took a long, long time for Abby to muster up the courage to touch this intimidating pirate ship. . .

My kid's obnoxious.

The Houghs, Florida edition  (that chick off to the left is my eldest daughter from a previous marriage)

I have weird roommates.

Once we got back upstairs to the hotel room, Bryan White labored away in the kitchen putting fire and heat to the catch of the day.  He fried one batch and baked another with lemon - both turned out awesome, so it was deemed 'legit' to take the mandatory Facebook-ish foodie snapshot of the final product.

BAM

- Brian